Genesis
by Kurenaino
Summary: Pain and loss spread like an infection through Obi-Wan, corrupting and destroying everything inside him until only a monster remains. A modern AU one shot based on Negotiation, by Glare.


**AN:** **Ok, hello lovelies! Uh...this is different for me. As many of you know, I'm not a huge fan of modern AU for a lot of reasons, so this is a bit different for me. Apologies for garbage. But! This is based on a piece of absolute not garbage called Negotiation, by Glare over on AO3 in which everything is modern, Anakin's a cop, Obi-Wan is a serial killer, and things get MESSED UP. Really, if you're going to modernize Star Wars, the Jedi are cops, and the Sith are serial killers, so as you can see...this is right up my alley, since my Sith Obi-Wan is one deranged mofo.**

 **I don't know that this piece will make much sense if you don't read Negotiation first, but if you're intrigued, by all means, I won't stop you. The rating might though. Look at it! That's for violence. Lots and lots of violence and a swift descent to madness. Don't say I didn't warn you, because I did. Anyway, if you're looking for a pretty dark piece about obsession and murder and kidnapped idiots, pop on over to AO3 and check it out. It's well worth it.**

 **Anyway, what fascinates me most about Negotiation is looking at this monster of an Obi-Wan and thinking, shit man, how did you end up here? And after a quick conversation with Glare, I got the go ahead to write it. Thanks, man. I had a blast, and I hope you enjoy!**

 **Warnings for you guys, since this piece is a bit of a mess: present in this monstrosity are rape references, graphic descriptions of violence, character death, murder, blood, blood, more blood, sex, and not all of it the warm tingly kind, and getting into the head of a man going straight to hell in his journey from person to serial murderer. You have been warned.**

 **Your regularly scheduled entertainment will continue now, but I had to get this off my chest. Some of you wanted darker. Welp, here you go, you sick bastards.**

 _Genesis_

Qui-Gon Jinn felt a flicker of hope within him when he turned in the corner in the neighborhood to his street and saw Obi-Wan's pristine, black coupe parked outside their house in its customary place, exactly two and a half feet from the mailbox and three inches from the curb. He sped up, his foot easing off the gas as he pulled into the driveway, and the hope within him died when he saw all the houselights off, the digital clock on his dashboard reading only eight thirty, far too early for his eighteen year old son to have turned in, even if he had his pretty little girlfriend over, though from the absence of her sporty red convertible, that seemed unlikely. It was possible that they had taken the sports car out instead, Obi-Wan having professed before to enjoying the smooth speed of the expensive luxury vehicle when compared to his much more affordable ride, but that had been the Obi-Wan of before. The one from before _it_ happened.

It had been one week since Obi-Wan had found his best friend, Siri Tachi, dead within her home, a suicide by overdose ending her young life and leaving bereft Obi-Wan alone to find the cold body when she failed to return his calls and texts that morning. They had been inseparable, a duo of subtle, crafty mischief makers, pushing the boundary of every rule they could find if for nothing else, to test the limits of how far they could go before they drew notice to themselves. It was often very far, the rules seeming to bend around them rather than break, their outward good behavior and quiet, studious demeanor lending them not only the mein of upstanding, productive young adults, but a sense of invisibility, leaving them not just often overlooked, but sometimes completely forgotten. They slipped under the radar in their day to day lives, which meant that when they found trouble, it became distressingly easy for them to be passed over, the more ostentatious taking the blame for things quietly done by Tachi and Kenobi.

But still they were young, and they were smart, dangerously so, which led them more often than not into the clutches of restless, teenage boredom, which is where they would find themselves getting in the deepest trouble. There had always been... _something_ about Obi-Wan, something wild and daring behind his soft, blue eyes, something far more bold than his quiet presence would suggest, a boy that engaged in risky, thrill-seeking behavior any time life proved too dull for him, which was often the older he got. It became something of a game for him to see how much he could get away with, how many boundaries he could push, how many rules he could not so much break, but carefully sidestep using loopholes and clever thinking. Established, set rules he wouldn't break, even ones he found offensive or unfair, though he still pressed at them, and in this, his endless patience would come into play. One way or another, he would eventually find a way to circumnavigate the barriers placed before him.

Despite their intelligence and their patience, Obi-Wan and Siri were still young, sometimes impulsive, often devious in their schemes, the makings of a perfect storm of bad decisions which even they fell prey to in their search for excitement. It all culminated three months ago when the teens had caught wind of plans for a local fraternity to host a massive holiday party, and with graduation only a semester out, the teenagers decided that they were old enough to attend. That was where it had all gone wrong. They had gone for the thrill of it, and the impulsive troublemakers had both ended up hopelessly drunk, not the first time for either of them, but it was still new to them, their limits still untested and uncertain, and they had gone far beyond those limits. In their inebriated daze, they had gotten separated in the throng, and after nearly half an hour of fending off the unwanted attention of a dozen drunken coeds, Obi-Wan began staggering about the party in an attempt to find his friend so they could leave, the alcohol and the buzz of arousal in his blood and the room around him making him ache for Satine.

He wasn't sure how long he had wandered the party, but it was Siri that had found him sometime later, her face wet with the stain of tears, her hair and clothing disheveled and in disarray, her intoxication faded into horrid sobriety, and despite his own haze, Obi-Wan sharpens as her tight hold on his hand leads him out to the street and far, far away. They have both shrugged off the effects of the alcohol by the time they rush into their district's police station, one of many of Coruscant's vast and largely ineffectual force, and as Siri frantically gives her account to a bored, tired cop, Obi-Wan paced outside the room, his fury growing with each step. His trembling, traumatized friend had been taken advantage of by someone who preyed on the innocent and the foolish, and beautiful Siri had been such a tempting thing, made to want her tormentor before she truly understood, and when it began, her weak cries to stop had been brushed aside and ignored.

She didn't tell Obi-Wan _who_ had done it, only that it had happened, concerned about what her fierce friend would do if he knew. She wouldn't be the one to send her impulsive friend against a much larger boy, one who would certainly bring harm to him were Obi-Wan stupid enough to throw concern for himself out the window, and Siri had known he would. Despite his prodding, Siri had remained silent, and when the girl emerged from the room, she was crying again and threw herself into Obi-Wan's arms, the only comfort she felt she had. The police decided there was no crime, that she was simply a young girl who regretted a sexual encounter and was upset over it. They would do _nothing_ , and as Obi-Wan grew more and more angry with each passing day at the unfair treatment of his friend, not just by her rapist, but by the authorities made to defend the weak and the innocent, Siri fell deeper and deeper into depression.

Hopelessness settled in soon after that, and vibrant Siri withdrew within herself, becoming a shell of what she once was, growing more and more distant to the world around her. Her top grades rapidly fell, her perfect attendance shattered when she began skipping classes, her contact with Obi-Wan always there, but becoming listless, almost mechanical in their every interaction, and there was nothing Obi-Wan could do to reach her. Three months later, and she simply didn't show up to school, leaving a panicked Obi-Wan to break every speed limit he could in his panic to reach her home, skipping out on school himself when she didn't return any of his texts or calls. She was dead when he found her, and had been for some time, and after a broken, desperate call to emergency services, the paramedics found the despondent boy clutching the body of his friend close to his chest, and it had taken three of them to get the teen to release his iron grip and let her go.

Qui-Gon hadn't been sure how to get through to his grief stricken son. He had barely seen him since it had happened, the boy answering no calls and barely responding to texts. When he did, it was always vague, leaving his whereabouts uncertain and his activities completely unknown to the concerned parent. The only way he had any idea of what Obi-Wan was up to was because Satine had taken it upon herself to text the worried father, if for nothing else, to keep him in the loop. In this crisis, it was Satine that had stepped up to care for her boyfriend, and though Qui-Gon had wished the boy would turn to him, he had no idea where to even begin on the matter. Satine, simply, was a better choice, more equipt to manage Kenobi's shifting moods, in a better position to keep him rooted, and for the loving girl's watchful eye, Qui-Gon was eternally grateful.

The house was dark and silent when he entered, the door creaking on its hinges louder than usual, and he removed his coat, hanging it on the coatrack as he passed, tossing his keys on the counter as he strode toward the stairs, his foot on the lower step and his hand on the banister as he listened for any sign that Obi-Wan was, in fact, home. There was only silence, heavy and oppressive, which was as good a sign as any that the boy was in the house.

"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon softly called up the stairs, straining his ears for any sign of response, but there was nothing. Slowly, he mounted the steps, his muffled footsteps on the soft, plush runner seeming louder in the dark, still air, and he flipped the hallway light on when he got to the top, the two doors belonging to his older sons closed tightly, neither having been opened since they had left, years ago now, and not on the best of terms. None of the sons Qui-Gon had raised had been easy, but Obi-Wan's small, subtle mischief had been the easiest when compared to his wilder, more boisterous brothers, and Qui-Gon silently prayed that depression and hopelessness wouldn't set his wayward youngest down a self-destructive path. He was too smart, had too much potential to waste away in his grief.

The only indication that the boy was home at all was his bedroom door slightly cracked open, an oversight that the fastidious Obi-Wan would never allow, the boy taking care every morning since he was four years old to ensure his privacy was maintained by closing the door tightly every time he left the house. Qui-Gon walked to the door as quietly as he was able, wincing when the door creaked loudly as he nudged it open, a slice of light from the hallway illuminating the floor and the corner of the bed, along with several empty bottles littered upon the ground. The air in the room smelled heavy and thick with alcohol, not the thin, bitter tang of cheep beer that high school kids so often covertly drank, but the burning sting of something much stronger.

Obi-Wan lay sprawled out upon the bed, his bare chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths, his entire thin frame hitching periodically with dry, reflexive sobs, and with a heavy sigh, Qui-Gon knocked softly on the open door, the teen's head lolling to the side, his eyes narrowing for a moment in disdain before he turned over on his side and curled up, making himself as small as possible in his misery. Qui-Gon didn't wait for an invitation to enter, slowly pushing the door open, allowing the hallway light to pour in, and the man sat on the edge of the bed, his son too hopelessly drunk to offer any objections at all. Qui-Gon didn't even know where to begin, his eyes drifting over the despondent teen and landing on the dark bruises on his neck, surrounded by indentations left behind by teeth, and the man chuckled softly to himself. At least _someone_ was taking care of his boy.

"Not with Satine tonight?" Qui-Gon hesitantly asked, searching for some place to begin, and Obi-Wan's girlfriend was as good a place to begin as any. He was usually quiet, but when it came to gushing about his beautiful lover, Obi-Wan had always been willing to talk. This time, though, he heard a deep, low growl in his son's chest, and the boy shifted, squirming slightly as if the answer physically repulsed him.

"She's at some..." He paused, turning over on his other side, his eyes squinting against the light, and he flopped on his back when he decided it was too much to take. His fine features contorted with disgust as he considered the question again. "Her father dragged her to some _function_ ," Obi-Wan slurred, his voice thick and heavy, his usually clipped accent especially pronounced under the effects of his severe inebriation. "Decided she's been spending too much time with me this week." His face twisted in a bitter sneer. "He's trying to keep us apart because I'm not good enough for his perfect daughter. She's too _high born_ for me."

"You're the top of your class, Obi-Wan, I don't think-" The hard glare his son shot him shut him up.

"If you had a daughter, a beautiful, smart, perfect, _pure_ daughter, wouldn't you hate the boy that's fucking her?" Qui-Gon winced at the harshness of the tone, and left the question unanswered, watching instead as Obi-Wan covered his face with his arm and groaned, no doubt feeling ill from the staggering amount of alcohol he consumed. Something had changed within Obi-Wan, something beyond the expected grief. There was something dark in the edge of his voice, something sharp even through the drunken haze, something wild and raging and screaming for justice where there was none to be had. Beyond that, there was something cold and empty in his eyes, a merciless void born from having someone so dear ripped so cruelly from him, and in that vacant stare, Qui-Gon saw death. He had been bitten, _infected_ , and the fever raged within his blood like poison, and Qui-Gon didn't know how to draw it out of him.

"Finals are coming up soon," Qui-Gon ventured quietly, slowly prodding to find a new way through to the boy. "Have you been studying?"

"What the hell do I need to study for..." Obi-Wan drawled lazily, his tone bored and unaffected. "I already know the information, it's not like school is hard..."

"What about that project for-"

"I finished it yesterday with Satine," Obi-Wan snapped quickly. "What do you want from me, huh?" Obi-Wan started to prop himself up on his elbows, but quickly gave up when the room began to spin, though he kept furious, angry eyes focused on his father. "When have I _ever_ neglected schoolwork? When have I ever had anything less than perfect marks?" A cruel, bitter smirk spread across Obi-Wan's face. "Do you really think the fact that _nothing matters_ is going to change anything? I already got into the college I want, so what would it even matter if it did?" His eyes narrowed dangerously. "So _back off_."

"...alright." Qui-Gon slowly stood and looked down at his son, the usual bright blue of his eyes dull and worn with the look of shattered glass deep within them, helpless and desperate and so, so wounded, and Qui-Gon didn't know how to fix it. He sighed and ran a hand through his graying hair and decided there was nothing left to be lost in this conversation. "Listen, Obi-Wan, about Siri..." Kenobi tensed, his breath held and his eyes slipping out of focus. "I don't know how I can help you. If you're blaming yourself for what happened-"

"I'm not..." Obi-Wan said, his voice distant, removed, like he was answering another question in another time, another place far, far from where he was now. "It's not my fault there is no justice in this world..."

"If you ever need to talk about it, Obi-Wan, I-"

"No," the teen said quickly, his voice full and present again, a soft smile on his lips, but there was nothing he could do to hide the pain in his eyes. "Thank you, father, but I'm fine. It doesn't even hurt anymore." The smile on his face and the conviction in his slightly wavering voice was almost enough to convince Qui-Gon that he actually was fine, that he had been managing his pain and his grief, that all would be well in time. _Almost_ , but not quite.

"Obi-Wan, please."

"I'm fine," he said again, stronger this time, as if he had convinced himself of it as well. "Goodnight, father." Qui-Gon sighed heavily. There was nothing to be done, at least not tonight.

"Goodnight, Obi-Wan. Please, sleep well." He turned and left the room, closing the door behind him, and as he walked down the hall toward his own room, the only sound he could hear were hopeless, muffled sobs that he was powerless to stop.

* * *

It was difficult to decide which part of Qui-Gon's death was the hardest to cope with, though prior experience had taught Obi-Wan that he didn't cope with death so much as he allowed it to sit within him, heavy and rotting as it festered deep in the center of his being, corrupting everything it touched, a contamination that could only be cured by cutting the very heart out of him. The pain of losing Siri had never left him, not in the seven years that she had been gone. He tried not to think of her, quickly turned away from any talk of her, any mention at all with a small, sad smile and the insistence that he was fine when he was anything but. She sat within him as a cold, painful memory, her image tainted by the last time he had seen her, her skin ghostly pale, her eyes milky and distant with the veil of death, her once warm, vibrant body cold and lifeless in his arms

Her death wasn't just a tragedy, like everyone said, the waste of a bright and promising life that ended before it could truly begin. Siri's death had been _senseless_ , completely avoidable, less a tragedy and more a murder. She was killed by the cruelty of a man that cared nothing for anything but chasing his own pleasure. She was killed by an uncaring justice system, tired and complacent and unwilling to believe a frightened abused girl because it was easier to do nothing at all. She was killed by a society that was broken, one that failed to provide help to a person when they were at their lowest, one that expected her continued perfection even though her poor, fragile heart had been shattered. She took her own life because she knew she was already dead. And now, in the midst of the holiday season, a mere week separating his death from the anniversary of his childhood friend, Qui-Gon Jinn joined Siri in the void that grew steadily stronger day by day within Obi-Wan Kenobi.

The funeral was awful, as expected, and not just for the fact he was laying his beloved father to rest. The deed had already been done, the man already dead, and a funeral was simply a formality, a ritual that Obi-Wan was coming to detest as not just an unpleasant waste of time, but a forced gathering of people he didn't care to see in an endless line of sympathies and condolences. Be them genuine or feigned, it didn't matter. Obi-Wan treated them all with the same polite response, a sad smile of thanks upon his lips, while he internally reviled them all, every fiber in his being roiling with hatred and rage and disgust. It didn't help that the tragedy had brought the family together, and if anything, it had only confirmed why it was they had been estranged in the first place, reenforced his bitter hatred of the brothers he was raised with.

Xanatos arrived with all the pomp and circumstance that followed him everywhere he went, and as expected, the man had made an ass of himself, a drunken and quite possibly high party hopper bitter and angry that he had been dragged from his active club life to attend the funeral of his adoptive father. It was all dramatics, all bad behavior called acceptable by those around him as a manifestation of his supposed grief when Obi-Wan knew damn well that there was no grief to be had. He was just a narcissist with an excuse for his particular brand of depravity, which was the worst kind. He had found his birth parents, just like he wanted, the cause of the fallout between him and his adoptive father, and because of it, Obi-Wan thought he had no right to be there, and resented him for attending.

Feemor was a different matter. Feemor _didn't attend_. The man worked overseas and simply hadn't been able to make it, but Obi-Wan took it as a slight regardless. The relationship between Feemor and Qui-Gon had been strained as well, a direct result of the dramatic blowout between their father and Xanatos over his status as an adopted child. Xanatos had been furious about it, driven by his own damn self-importance, and nobody in the family had handled the matter well, every single one of them forced to contend with the toxic vortex that was Qui-Gon's middle child. And in the end, Feemor so objected to the way the matter was handled that when he became of age, he left and didn't return. In the end, Obi-Wan was left alone with Qui-Gon, had stayed close to him until the day he died, and when Feemor wasn't there, Obi-Wan resented him for being absent.

Qui-Gon was far from a perfect parent. He made serious mistakes in the handling of his children, though he never had the easiest children to raise. When Siri had died, the man had been so far out of his depth that he had no idea how to help the last son he had remaining to him. Perhaps it was for fear of poor handling that he hesitated, that he walked on eggshells, that he allowed Obi-Wan the leash to self-medicate with alcohol and sex and solitude. Obi-Wan never resented him for it, even though he knew he was ineffectual. Qui-Gon had tried to the best of his abilities to connect to his tortured son, had always done his best for his boys, even though his best was short of good enough. Qui-Gon struggled to do what he could, which was more than most were willing to do for Obi-Wan, and that was enough. And his ungrateful, _ingrate_ other sons had the audacity to behave as they were.

More than once during the funeral, Obi-Wan found himself staring at Xanatos with the full fury of the rage that burned inside him and wondered why Fate had not taken this self-important asshole instead. Why it wasn't Xanatos that was stabbed to death in an alleyway and left to bleed out before help arrived. He knew why, of course. Xanatos wouldn't have tried to step in and help like Qui-Gon did. He wouldn't have felt compelled to leap to the aid of a stranger getting beaten senseless by a couple of thugs. Xanatos was _rotten_ , unlike Qui-Gon, which is why his father was dead, and the degenerate lived. It was the way of the world. Everything good was _extinguished_ in the cesspool that was Coruscant.

But he _did_ imagine it. What it would have been like to hear his idiot brother was dead, to hear he had died _pitifully_ in a pool of his own blood. He imagined the look on his face when it happened, shock and disbelief and fear, and then _nothing_ as the life pulsed out of him with each beat of his heart, as his eyes slid out of focus, growing more and more distant until he saw nothing at all. He would just _lay there_ , dark red hot blood pooling around him as his body grew cold with death, and _nobody would care_ , and as Obi-Wan imagined it, he felt... _elation_.

It was only the soft, gentle, loving hand of Satine upon his arm that drew him out of his thoughts and back to reality. It wasn't Xanatos that was dead, it was Qui-Gon, and the burning excitement he had felt hardened into cold, bitter hatred. His anger was misplaced, he knew, though he wouldn't have mourned either of his brother for a moment. Qui-Gon was dead, and that was all that mattered, all he felt as he drew faithful, loving, _stable_ Satine into his arms and held on for all he was worth, like she was the only thing he had left in this rotten life he lived, because she _was_.

Perhaps it was Qui-Gon's death itself that was the worst part about it. He had been stupid, _foolish_ , a pointless waste of senseless nobility gone horribly wrong as he had tried to save a man from obviously dangerous criminals, and for his selflessness, he was rewarded with a stab to the gut, and Qui-Gon was left to bleed out, dead before help could arrive. It was just another bad decision by Qui-Gon Jinn, and this one had not just cost him his life, but had left his twenty five year old son alone to take another person he loved and see them put in the ground, the void within him growing wider as the darkness within him spread. Obi-Wan mercifully didn't find the body this time, and only saw Qui-Gon again when he went to the morgue to see his world shattered once again, leaving his mind to fill in the blanks of his father's final moments, which was, perhaps, far worse than actually knowing.

Satine had seen the change in her lover immediately, had not just seen the difficulty he had with coping when Siri had died, but now saw the issue compounded with Qui-Gon's murder. He hadn't been able to cope before, opting instead to push the grief, the guilt, the pain deep, deep inside of him where nobody could see it, and now, forced yet again to face a tragic loss, she watched the struggle nearly break her Obi-Wan. Something inside him had been torn open, a violent, bloody hole deep inside him, and within those depths sat something monstrous. He managed in public well enough, ever the dedicated student, ever the amicable teacher's aid, always helpful, always smiling, always putting others at ease.

But Satine had the privilege of living with the man, and had been since they entered college together. She saw him at home, and she remained the last person alive who saw _him_ , not the man he presented to the world, but the man as he was in the privacy and safety of his own home, and in his eyes, Satine saw _murder_. It was subtle at first, but grew worse with each passing day. The man that had murdered Qui-Gon had been caught and charged, and his trial date was fast approaching, but that hadn't been enough for Kenobi. Something had gripped him, some secret darkness that he kept buried in the depths of his heart, a thing that Satine had seen only glimpses of in their years together, but now, it ruled him.

Justice wasn't enough for him, because Obi-Wan had seen the justice of Coruscant and knew it to be an illusion, a blatant lie that everyone was so eager to believe in, fools that bought into their own ignorant blindness. There would be no justice for Qui-Gon, and in the days leading up to the trial, Satine had seen him staring at news reports on the case, at pictures of the man who had murdered his father, his sharp blue eye predatory as they memorized every line, every detail of the man's face. She watched the burning within him, saw the hatred and the anger grow until every fiber of his being strained to keep it contained. Obi-Wan didn't seek justice. He sought revenge, and Satine feared that he meant to be the executioner.

She caught him just before he fell, just as the darkness inside him threatened to consume everything he was, and through kindness and comfort and love and understanding, Satine managed to pull her tortured lover away from the edge of the void he so hungrily gazed into. He returned to her broken and needy and desperate for something to cling to, and Satine had always been there for him. It took some time, but through a combination of calm, quiet reason and lovemaking until he was too tired and worn to be anything but compliant, Satine had convinced Obi-Wan to trust the system to apprehend the criminal responsible for his father's death. This wasn't like it was with Siri. This time, they had the man in custody. This time, justice would be done, and while his lack of faith in the justice system remained, he reluctantly agreed to his lover's terms. He didn't trust them, but he trusted Satine, and he slowly put his darkness away, the beast receding into the depths of his soul to sit and wait and watch.

As bad as Qui-Gon's murder was, it was what came after that Obi-Wan decided was the worst of it. There was nothing worse than sitting in a courtroom weeks after the murder, Satine's hand clutched tightly in his own as he listened to the detective paint the picture of the crime scene in his mind, as he looked on in horror and desperation as the officer announced that the only witness refused to testify, as the jury determined that there wasn't enough evidence to convict him, as the judge declared him _innocent_ , and he was let go, released to live his life. Obi-Wan sat in the courtroom long after everyone had filed out, his head resting on Satine's chest, her delicate hand running through his hair, her sweet, soothing voice whispering what comfort she could give, and all he could think about was that murderer, his crime erased as though it had never happened, and Qui-Gon, flawed, loving father, cold in the ground, and he bitterly wondered where his promised justice was.

He buried himself in his graduate studies after that, became an aid to an unprecedented five teachers in the English department, kept office hours early in the morning and late into the night on most days. Between his own classes and grading papers for the classes he aided in, there was very little time left in the day for his own work, drastically cutting down his already restless sleep and leaving next to no time for _them_. It wasn't that he was ignoring her, far from it. His watchful eye was _always_ on her, and more often than not, Obi-Wan would be waiting for her when she got out of her classes, ready to walk her to her next study hall, to her internship at the senate building, back to the home they shared just outside campus.

After a week of this, a week of his paranoid protection and desperate, possessive clinging, a week of him leaving early and coming back late, a week of watching him drown in work, a week of skipped meals and sleepless nights, a _week_ of waiting for him to accept her invitation to come to bed and take her like she needed, like she _knew_ he needed, she had enough. She made her displeasure known the moment he walked in the door that evening, the haggard, exhausted man assaulted by his very beautiful, very _nude_ lover the moment the door was shut and locked, and after years of being together, there was little the woman didn't know about arousing Obi-Wan to readiness.

It took no time at all, the lost, broken man desperate and hungry for contact like he hadn't known before, everything inside him screaming for a connection, for a hold to keep him rooted in this world, and Satine so willingly provided it. The week of mounting tension and desperation, a week without rest or respite, his own withdrawal keeping him from feeling anything other than pain and hate and rage effected him more than he realized, and when she pressed herself against him, all he could feel was the aching need deep within him, desperate and wanting and craving a feeling, _any_ feeling but the pain that slowly poisoned him.

Within five minutes of his arrival and without bothering to do anything but unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants, he had Satine pressed against the wall, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist and her hands clinging to his strong back and his fine threaded black suit jacket as he thrust deep within her, desperate, keening moans torn from his throat each time he pressed back inside her, each time he felt her tighten around him, each time her soft, breathless voice gasped his name. With a shuddering, desperate moan, Obi-Wan pressed as deep as he is able and climaxes, his lover sighing in satisfaction as he does, her gentle hands in his auburn hair a sharp contrast to the hard, possessive grasp he has on her hips.

They part only to move to the bedroom, and this time, they go slower, taking their time as Satine carefully removes his clothing, her lips pressing to his neck as his hands wander, exploring her body like it was his first time seeing it, like he was trying to memorize the feel of her beneath his fingers. Gone was the rough, desperate, frantic abandon of before, replaced instead by something grateful, worshipful and adoring. Since Qui-Gon died, she looked at him and saw emptiness, a void so dark and so deep that Satine thought a person could be swallowed whole by it. It was frightening and heartbreaking, especially since she had seen what he was before, had known him before life tore the heart out of him again and again. This past week, it had been all she had seen, her beautiful lover reduced to depression and anger so deep, she thought her Obi-Wan may never return.

But then, in that moment as she clung to him, she looked at him and saw the emptiness within him fill with _her_ , the gaping pit so wide and so deep that she couldn't stop it entirely, but she sat there in the empty wound where his heart should have been, giving him something to cling to in the sea of loss he had been set adrift in. And that was fine. If that was what he needed, if that was what was required to make Obi-Wan begin to feel whole again, she could be that for him. Just as he had always been there for her. She could bring her isolated, reclusive lover through this. She was the only one who could.

When they had finished, the lovers breathless and moaning softly with satisfaction, the man nestled deeply between her legs, the hesitation and uncertainty returned to Obi-Wan, and with a slight smile that was equal parts loving and apologetic, he kissed her for a moment before he climbed off, leaving the bed to quickly slide into his pants and wearily shuffle to the desk in the corner. Settling down into his chair, he switched on his computer as he riffled through books and stacks of notes, and Satine rolled her eyes, turning around and rolling over to lay on her stomach as she watched her lover work.

"Obi-Wan." The man tensed, jumping slightly as his silence was disturbed and quickly looked back at the woman. "Come back to bed, my love."

"I can't," Obi-Wan said, a soft, sad smile upon his lips, though she could see the eagerness and longing in the tension in his chest. "You know I can't, I have-"

"You _always_ have work," Satine said with a roll of her eyes. " _I_ always have work, but I also know to make time for the important things."

"Your work is important," Obi-Wan muttered, turning back to the computer and glancing at his notes as he began typing.

" _You_ are important," she sighed as she slid off the bed when it was clear her single-minded lover wouldn't be swayed back to bed. That was fine. She was just as stubborn as he was. He flinched, his strong muscles tensing when she ran her hands over his shoulders, and he relaxed with a soft groan, his hands sliding from the keyboard when her long, elegant fingers began kneading the tension out of him. "I _think_ your dissertation on _Heart of Darkness_ can wait until morning."

"If I want to get it done-"

"You have _months_ to finish, and you've nearly completed it as it is," she said, her hand resting on his neck as she came around and slid herself into his lap, straddling his hips, and with a throaty groan, Obi-Wan rested his hands on her slender hips. Satine smiled softly as she kissed him, the man desperately returning the gesture. In th end, she _always_ got her way. "We should go to the cabin," she softly suggests. "Get out of Coruscant for a while. This city is toxic, and you need to get away so you can _breathe_."

"The cabin _isn't mine_ ," Obi-Wan growled, the hand at her hip tightening as his fingers dug into her skin nearly hard enough to bruise. "That pathetic ingrate had it willed to him and he-" Obi-Wan was silenced when Satine sharply scoffed and rolled her eyes, her hand running affectionately along his jaw.

"Come now, do you really think Xanatos would leave his active party life to drive all the way to the middle of the woods near _Naboo_ , of all places?" She placed a kiss on the tip of his nose. "There aren't enough nightclubs out there for his taste, and how would he ever feed his ecstasy addiction outside the city?" The grip on her hip loosened, her lover breathing a shuddering breath as he slowly stroked her waist and pulled her closer. Satine couldn't keep the triumphant smirk off her face. She had predictably won again.

"I doubt he even remembers that he owns it," Obi-Wan bitterly growled. "He was drunk and high when they read the will, I doubt he remembers _anything_. He doesn't deserve it anyway..."

"So we're going?" Again, the hand at her hip tensed, and she pursed her lips when she felt his reluctance, his eyes darting away and refusing to meet her gaze. Her victory, it seems, was premature. "My father's coming into town later this week, Obi," she sighed, and the hand at her hip grew tighter. "Some board meeting or something, but he wants to see me, no doubt to try and talk sense into me again."

"He still bitter about your political views?" Obi-Wan asked, and the woman laughed, laying a hand over his chest and feeling the strong, even beat of his heart under her fingertips.

"And he _really_ doesn't like that I'm dating an _English teacher_..."

"We'll see if he changes his tune when I start making money, if I get the position at Coruscant University..." Obi-Wan smirked softly and kissed the woman's cheek. "I hear professors pull _quite_ the paycheck."

"Knowing him, he'll start acting like you were _always_ his favorite," Satine said with a roll of her eyes. "I've been looking for an excuse to get away so I won't have to see him. You wouldn't happen to know if any handsome grad student that happens to have an isolated cabin in the woods is willing to come and sweep me away." She drew a hand down his chest and across his abdomen, Kenobi groaning deeply as her delicate touch drifted ever closer to the waist of his pants. "Would you, Obi-Wan?"

"I might be able to think of _someone_..." Obi-Wan traced his thumb over her bottom lip and laughed softly when she took it in her mouth, never breaking eye contact as she very suggestively swirled her tongue around it. It was the first time he had felt anything other than rage and pain since Qui-Gon had been killed, the first time he thought of anything other than cold blooded murder since the one who did it had escaped justice. "You are _everything_ to me..." he whispered, so soft and so sincere that he thought his heart would tear out of his chest, and he wouldn't have minded if only it meant he could give it to her.

"...I know." Satine kissed his palm and held his trembling hand to her chest just over her heart. "I'm so, _so_ sorry about what happened, my love," she said, and when Obi-Wan turned his head away, she reached out, her hand upon his jaw, and directed his gaze back to her. "This city is broken. This system is _broken_ if it could fail so horribly in this. And this wasn't the first time. What happened to Qui-Gon, what happened to Siri...they're happening every single day, and nobody is doing anything to change it."

"No, why would they..." Obi-Wan sneered bitterly, but with his lover so tantalizingly close, her calming, soothing touch upon his face, the darkness that lay within him was kept at bay, relegated to angry, impotent snarling and pacing within him. With a gasp, he looked into her eyes and saw _fire_ , determination and resolve like he had never seen within the passionate woman before, and his eyes widened in understanding. " _Shit_."

"Obi-Wan..."

"You mean to change it?" he gasped, his breath catching in his chest.

"From the ground up," she said, her voice low and even, deadly serious and almost dangerous, and Obi-Wan felt a shiver of excitement rush through him. "Our system isn't just broken, it is corrupt, _rotten_ , and it is infecting everything it touches. When you have a disease that spreads, you _cut it out_." Satine kissed the man when she felt his arms snake around her waist and pull her closer, when she felt his pulse quicken under her fingertips. "I'm not going to fix it, because it can't be fixed. I'm going to tear it down and rebuild it. The Justice system, the Senate, the law enforcement, all of it. So victims like Siri and Qui-Gon never happen again."

"You're going to make a lot of enemies, Satine, a lot of people are invested in keeping things exactly as they are," Obi-Wan said, his voice trembling, his tone filled with worry and concern that faded quickly as the woman lovingly stroked his face.

"I'm not afraid, Obi," she said, kissing him softly and slowly began rocking her hips against his, her lover's breath hitching as he groaned in satisfaction, his body quickly responding to her familiar touch. "I've been on this path a long time. What happened to Siri changed us all, and now, with what happened to your father..." She shook her head. "I can't take it a second longer, and now that my political career is getting started, it's time. When I'm done, everything will be different, and we can get justice for Qui-Gon, I _promise_."

"Oh, my sweet, my beautiful angel," Obi-Wan said, hopelessly breathless and adoring as he pulled Satine against his, pressing desperate, hungry kisses to her pale, slender neck. He could still feel the darkness within him, could still feel the rot of corruption that had grown and spread throughout the years, but the beast that rested within him was still, silent, watching, the murderous intent he had felt raging through him in the weeks since Qui-Gon's tragic, _stupid_ death calmed by the brilliant, naked woman in his lap. He didn't trust the police, didn't trust the justice system to make the right choices and serve justice as they were supposed to. But he trusted Satine with everything inside him. She would make things different, because when she put her mind to it, Satine Kryze _always_ got her way.

"You're going to change the world..." Obi-Wan groaned against her neck, gasping when her delicate hand finally slipped inside his pants to gently stroke at his quickly hardening arousal.

"Only with you by my side, my love."

" _Always_." Obi-Wan barely had time to breathe as Satine caught his lips in her own, deep and passionate and maddening as she lazily slid her tongue against his, dragging a keening, animalistic groan from his chest that sent shivers through both of them.

"We'll leave for the cabin tomorrow night?" she half asked, half demanded when she parted for air, Obi-Wan mindlessly nodding his compliance to her will. "That will give us the time we need to get our things together and put in for our time off with the University."

"How long will we be gone?" he asked into the crook of her neck, reaching down to free his painfully throbbing erection from the confines of his pants, and with a delighted laugh, Satine rose up to her knees, to hover just above the weeping tip. A frustrated whine in Kenobi's throat as he arched up for contact.

"A week, perhaps..." Satine drawled, watching in fascination as aroused desperation ran across Obi-Wan's handsome, deeply flushed face. "Maybe more, we'll see how we're feeling by the end of it. I need to plan my political strategy, and you seem just the man to help my in that task."

"Would that I could manipulate people the way you do..." Obi-Wan growled, his hands on her hips to guide her as she lowered herself down toward him, stopping just shy of allowing the tip to penetrate her.

"I can teach you, if you like. It's easy." She smirked, kissing the tip of his nose. "But you already know. You're smart and charismatic, when you wish to be, and as handsome as they come." Satine slowly lowered herself down on Obi-Wan, a long, low moan torn from the man's throat as he slid easily inside her, and she gasped when she sat upon him, as deep inside her as he could go. "I _had_ to have you..."

"And you always get what you want..."

" _Yes_..." she said, breathless and whimpering softly as her lover's hips began to roll under her. "Always..."

* * *

Obi-Wan cradled Satine in his arms, her thin frame held close to his chest, unable to breathe as he helplessly watched the life quickly drain out of her. He had caught her before she had even hit the ground, was by her side mere seconds after the shot rang out, was moved into quick action at the sounds of screams and panic around him. He had laid his hand over the deep, red spot on her chest, growing quickly larger with each passing moment, applying as much pressure as he could, but it was useless. The bullet had passed right through her, the small hole in the center of her chest pulsing blood with each beat of her rapidly weakening heart a stark contrast to the large, ragged exit wound in her back, a shredded mess of torn muscle and bone fragments the blood flowed freely and quickly out of. The shot was fatal, Obi-Wan could see from the moment he caught her, and there was nothing he could have done, no help that could have come quickly enough to save her.

So he sat there, his lover clasped tightly in his arms, hot, thick blood soaking into his pants, his shirt, his jacket, covering his hands, his face when he wiped his fingers across his forehead to get the hair out of his eyes, the snow around them melting under the red, pooling mess. She couldn't speak, each breath she tried to take only bringing more blood to her lips from the tatters of her lungs. With Obi-Wan's help, she did have the strength to bring her own bloodied hand to his cheek, and he watched tears pool in her eyes, the bright blue swimming as they became distant, then sightless, and then... _nothing_ , the color fading swiftly to milky blue gray, and she was gone, dead within a minute of the fatal shot, her body quickly becoming cold in the chill of the winter air, though the blood covering Obi-Wan's clothes, his hands, his skin still felt hot.

He had been a child when Siri died, eighteen, perhaps, but a child none the less, left to find her body already cold in her home after she had taken her own life. Qui-Gon, only a year ago just last week, he had only seen in the morgue after it was over, a clinical setting where doctors told Obi-Wan in clinical voices how his father had died. Each time, something dark and ugly grew within him, something vicious and predatory and wrathful slowly spreading within him. But this was different. He _saw_ Satine die, he watched the life fade from her eyes, had felt her blood gushing from open wounds, and as his lover's life slipped away, as she faded from the dark void within him, the last remaining thing in this world he held dear, Obi-Wan felt the emptiness inside him fill with blood.

There were paramedics and doctors, police and detectives, thousands of onlookers, some the remnants of the political rally, others morbidly curious bypassers. Obi-Wan noticed none of it. All he could see were blue, sightless eyes, half lidded and glazed with death, all he could hear was silence, all he could feel, all he could smell was the wet, sticky metallic scent of blood heavy around him. Just blood, _so much blood..._

Obi-Wan wasn't sure how long he knelt in the bloody snow with Satine clutched tightly to him, his face blank and expressionless, his eyes lost and empty, but it was long past the point that the body grew cold, that the blood began to dry, caking into his clothing and flaking like crust upon his hands, the dark red lightening to a deep rust. People talked to him, tried to touch him, tried to help him to his feet, tried to take the body away from him, but Obi-Wan was unresponsive, saw nothing, heard nothing, and nobody could pry the deceased girl from his unyielding grasp.

"Obi-Wan." The voice was familiar, the hand upon his shoulder gentle and comforting, but Obi-Wan felt none of it, cared for none of it, wouldn't even look at him. Plo, a friend who had lived out near the cabin, who had come to Coruscant with the couple to support Satine as she addressed a quickly rising populist movement. It was gone now. Nobody else had her fire, her charisma, her ability to lead. The world would go on, the city would go on as it had before, _always_ as it had before, without justice, where the good died and the selfish, the greedy, the corrupt made the laws, and only enforced the ones that suited them. But not Obi-Wan. He wouldn't move on. He couldn't move on, not after Siri, Qui-Gon, _Satine_...he would remain here, soaked through with blood.

"Obi-Wan," Plo tried again, his hand tightening on his shoulder and his voice tight and thick with revulsion, straining to keep himself from retching and dried tears streaking his face. "Obi-Wan, I am _so sorry_..." He tried to gently pull Obi-Wan back, but the man wouldn't move. "Please, Obi-Wan, they need her...you need to let her go."

"I can't..." Kenobi whispered, his voice thick raw and burning like he hadn't spoken in months, and he shivered, drawing the body closer to him and burying his head in the crook of her neck. " _I can't_..."

"Obi-Wan, please, you _have_ to...no, wait, please don't!" he said swiftly, standing and talking to someone behind them, his voice tense and tight with panic. "Please, don't sedate him, just give me a moment!" Plo knelt beside him once again, his hand gently rubbing Kenobi's back. "There are doctors here, Obi-Wan, they can help you–"

"I'm fine..." Kenobi said in a dull, flat monotone, inhaling sharply as he finally tuned in to his surroundings, saw the doctors, the paramedics, the coroners, the police, and the newly arrived mental help professionals. Finally, he looked at Plo, a friend, a good one, but not one he would keep. He was alone. _Alone_. "Did they get the one who did this?"

"Yes," Plo said quickly. "They already too him away, he's-"

"A gunman," Obi-Wan sneered. "The one who pulled the trigger, but not the one who aimed the gun, so _did they get the ones responsible for this_?!" Plo looked at his furious friend at a complete loss for words, and Kenobi scoffed, bitterness and disgust twisting his blood-smeared face. "Of course not, why would they..." He lovingly stroked the pale, silky blond hair away from his lover's face, though the gesture felt hollow and meaningless when once it had been affectionate. "My Satine...we knew what she was doing was dangerous, b-but I never imagined that _this_..." Obi-Wan laughed bitterly. "And she was going to change the world..."

"She changed a lot of lives with what she was doing, Obi-Wan," Plo said as gently as he could, and Kenobi's shoulders tensed.

"But what about _me_. What about my life?" He bit down on his lip and looked at his friend, a man that he had been so close to, and now, could feel _nothing_ for him. "What am I supposed to do now?"

"There are people here that can help you, Obi-Wan," Plo quietly explained. "Doctors and therapists and grief counselors, they're all here to help you through this..."

"I'm fine," Obi-Wan said tersely, taking a deep breath as he rose to his feet, cradling Satine in his arms. "...where do they need her?" The coroners swept in, directing the man to lay the body down on the wheeled stretcher, and he stood, watching them as they worked while the doctors surrounded him, asking questions, offering their services, but Obi-Wan ignored them all, his eyes intensely focused on the body and he could feel the love within him bend and twist into obsession, the last piece of him to be touched by the infection that began in him so long ago.

When they zipped up the body bag, Satine disappearing from his view for the last time, Obi-Wan turned and left the scene, his hands in the pockets of his blood soaked coat as he brushed off the police as they tried to take statements, the doctors that wanted to check him into the hospital for shock treatment, the therapists that wanted to schedule visits for the very next day. He quietly promised to be in contact, gave them his number and address so he could be reached, and he left without another word. There would never be justice for Siri, since the girl had never told Obi-Wan _who_ had committed the rape that would come to kill her. There would never be justice for beautiful Satine, for she had too many political enemies, and one of which who could have been the culprit. But he _could_ have justice for Qui-Gon. He had a name, a face he saw burning in his mind every night before he slept, and since Satine could no longer see justice done, there was nothing left holding Obi-Wan back from revenge.

Siri Tachi, Qui-Gon Jinn, Satine Kryze. The most important people in his life, and each of them dead, years separating them, but all dead within days of each other in the same month, all around the holiday season. It was just as well. Obi-Wan never cared much for such nonsense, and had even more reason to despise it now. Theirs weren't the only lives taken, after all, because everything he was, everything he could have been was dead with them, and in his place, something new was born from the very depth of him, rising from the pool of blood that filled the hole inside him and smelling of death.

For the next few weeks, Obi-Wan spent his days with the police, quietly giving his statement in as great detail as he was able, with doctors that evaluated his physical state and found him fit, with therapists that sat with him for hours as they listened to him describe his healing process. How he was moving past his tragedy, how he was looking toward the future, his recent acceptance of a position teaching English composition at the prestigious Coruscant University giving him something to focus his mind on. He said he was fine, that he was moving on, and within a few sessions, the mental health professionals gave him a clean bill of health and he was officially discharged from their services.

At night, when he returned to his home off campus, the one he had kept with Satine, things were different. He barely slept, hardly ate, his home kept dark and in a state of disarray, the walls of his shower still stained with the wash of blood from when he had washed his body after the murder, the bloody clothes long since dried laying unwashed upon the bed in a heap that he vowed he would _never_ discard. He sat up late into the night and straight through until morning as he studied human anatomy from pre-med textbooks and post-graduate reports on surgeries, autopsies and dissections, each day the hunger within him growing, each day the image of the man who had killed his father burning within his mind.

Between his study sessions, he would plan the murder of this man, on his leisurely walks between his classrooms at the University, he would imagine what it would feel like when he finally pushed a knife into the vile man's gut and watched him bleed out, just as Qui-Gon had, just as he had watched Satine, and it left him feeling intoxicated and hungry and aching for a relief he knew could only be sated when he killed that man. When he wasn't studying or teaching, he was stalking his prey, learning his patterns, his habits, his haunts, his victims. He was a big man, a strong one, and Obi-Wan started setting aside time to work out, making himself stronger and faster for a confrontation he knew would become physical quickly if he didn't strike just right. And he knew he wouldn't. Obi-Wan got the feeling that a person's first murder rarely went as planned.

After a month of study, of teaching, of being the popular, charismatic professor, Obi-Wan could take it no longer, the pressure within him building until he thought he may snap, until he looked into the mirror and hardly recognized the man with the wild, feral, _hungry_ eyes staring back at him. It had passed from obsessive want into consuming need, a subtle change, but a significant one, and able to bear it no longer, Obi-Wan left the University on Friday afternoon, a folding pocket knife clipped to his belt and concealed under his jacket and went in search of his prey.

He was easy enough to find. Obi-Wan had spent so much time studying him, learning his patterns, his hangouts, the places he visited, the victims he selected, all just by watching and listening, and despite the sprawling size of Coruscant, people had patterns, territories, and they rarely strayed from them. All he needed to do was visit the place where Qui-Gon had died, and Kenobi found the man quickly, as he knew he would. Obi-Wan's heart was racing as he followed the man at a distance, his eyes burning into him, the knot in his stomach twisting with hunger and need, and it took all of his control not to attack the man out in the open.

But Obi-Wan was smart, and he was patient, as he had always been, and he pushed the feeling within him aside and focused on the plan. It had taken nearly two hours for the man to part with his crew, lighting a cigarette as he ducked into a dirty back ally and walking back far away from the main street. He'd be back here alone for about twenty minutes before another man showed up, part of a drug deal, or a hustle, or something, Obi-Wan wasn't sure, but he was certain of the time frame. It had been like this every Friday since he had started watching the man. Twenty minutes was more than enough time to murder a man.

When the man fished through his pocket and removed a syringe, tapping it before he pressed the needle into his arm and injected the contents, Obi-Wan increased his pace, his long, quick stride bringing him close, his hand closed around his knife, and when he had nearly reached the criminal, the man had turned around, eyes widening in surprise just before Obi-Wan lunged forward with a furious snarl and thrust the knife into his torso, just beneath where the ribs met. The man gasped, his eyes widening further as he staggered back, clutching the bleeding hole and beginning to scream in pain, but Obi-Wan was relentless, the knife in his hand and swinging furiously at the criminal, striking forearms as he blocked and sending splatters of blood from deep cuts across the alley's dark slate walls.

For just a moment, the bleeding criminal managed to push Obi-Wan to the ground and began to make his escape, running down the ally toward the street, but loss of blood and the substance he had injected into his vein earlier began taking its toll, and within moments, the scrappy, rage-filled Obi-Wan tackled the much larger man to the ground, sitting atop him and furiously stabbing down into his back, twenty times, thirty times until the criminal began fighting back in a panic. Massive fists slammed into Obi-Wan's stomach and ribs, and he took one glancing blow to the face, but adrenaline and fury and the deep knot of hunger made him almost impervious to the pain, the knife in his hands and the blooming, bloody wounds across the criminal's body filling him with a rush unlike anything he had ever felt, and spurred onwards, the need to see more, to feel more, to taste the death of this vile creature filled him.

Obi-Wan had finally overpowered the ever-weakening man, his struggle becoming sluggish as he lost blood, as the drug overpowered whatever adrenaline he had in his system, his frantic cries turning to soft, pained groans as the knife plunged in over and over, leaving the hard muscled abs a squishy, punctured wet mess, the thick red blood spurting from the many wounds with each breath, each contraction of his stomach. Breathing heavy and ragged, Obi-Wan sat back on the man's legs, watching him as he twitched and convulsed, his breathing weak, the blood running in thick streams down his body to pool in the street. With a deep, feral growl reverberating in his chest, Obi-Wan leaned forward, laying his hand on the thick, blood-slicked chest, and slowly drew the knife across the criminal's exposed neck. Obi-Wan shivered, a soft, satisfied groan of relief in his chest as blood pulsed thick and heavy out from the deep cut through cartilage and muscle and arteries, his father's killer twitching as the life left him, the last impulses sent from a dying brain, the eyes becoming vacant and hollow as death set in.

He felt _relief_ , unlike anything he had felt before. It was like being drunk, the feeling of fullness after a fine meal, the post-orgasmic euphoria of sex all rolled into one divine, intoxicating feeling, and for just a moment, the void inside him was _gone_ , filled with blood and sated from it, the depression he had felt since he was eighteen abated, the pain of his losses alleviated, the furious wrath calmed. It was bliss, it was fulfillment, and Obi-Wan welcomed it. Qui-Gon had been avenged, and if he was caught for this...well, he had nothing left anyway.

Picking himself off of the body, his black clothes damp with blood, Obi-Wan put his knife back on his belt and with a final look at the man he had murdered, he slowly walked out of the alleyway, hailed a cab, and went back home to wash the blood off himself, throw the bloodstained clothing into the washer, and fall into bed to sleep peacefully in the first time since he could remember.

He didn't wake up until late afternoon, the feeling of intense satisfaction still heavy in his blood, and he felt functional, like a new person, not ready to take on the world, perhaps, but ready to at least pretend to be a part of it. It would be easy to slip into his role of suave professor, young and attractive, front row bait for his female students and so inclined males to sit and listen intently to his eloquent and engaging lectures. He hadn't been at his job long, but already he was getting a reputation, and already, his classes for the summer were beginning to fill up. Because of his tragedy with Satine, the other faculty in the department didn't really know how to approach him, but now, after this, after he had _justice_...

He glanced back at the bed, the bloody clothes from the night Satine died safely tucked away inside the chest at the foot of the bed, and the pang within him returned, all pain and sorrow and rage, taking the edge off the ecstacy he felt. Tearing his eyes away, his mood severely dampened, he ventured out the front door, squinting against the sun, to get the mail and the newspaper. He tossed the mail on the table along with the rest from the previous month, none of which he had looked at, and he opened the paper, apprehensively reading the headlines for the news of his crime, certain that any minute now, the police would be by to arrest him. He had been as careful as he could, but the murder had been messy, a much longer affair than he had been intending.

After some searching, he found it, a tiny footnote next to a large picture of public librarian Jocasta Nu and the headline that went with it, all about the elderly woman's award winning winter stew taking first place at the state fair for the third year in a row. _A footnote_. Obi-Wan felt a slow, wicked grin spread across his face as he read the tiny, three sentence article, a bare minimum report of who he was, how he died, and a casual, careless shrug of a request for any information. Coruscant's finest had finally come through for him, their incompetence and carelessness keeping them from the motivation to look for a man that had taken out a known criminal, allowing Obi-Wan to get away with murder. Deep within him, he could feel something stir, something dark and hungry, satisfied for now, but it wouldn't be for long, and though Qui-Gon had been avenged, though he had finally had his justice, the feeling inside him didn't come from a desperate cry against an unfair world. _This_ need, this pull, this urge was for _him_.

Obi-Wan would be more careful with his next murder.

* * *

The woman in the passenger seat sang loudly along with the radio, her slight inebriation keeping her mostly off-key, but not terribly so, giving a good indication that when sober, she was probably a lovely vocalist. Her blond hair hand loose and gently curled down past her shoulder, her blue eyes vibrant against the flush of her skin, a pleasant smile on her face as she looked at the handsome driver, a shiver running up her spine when he ran a hand up the inside of her thigh, a sweet moan on her lips as she tantalizingly parted her legs to allow him greater access.

Let it never be said that Obi-Wan didn't have a type.

He didn't _always_ take beautiful blond women, of course. Girls like his Satine were hard to come by and easily missed, though he was always drawn to a beautiful blond with gorgeous blue eyes. The one in his car now fit his preference, though she was a great deal more stupid than Satine had ever been. Someone had obviously never told her it was _very_ unwise to get into cars with handsome, smooth-talking strangers that promised them a romantic weekend in their cabin in the woods. He was rarely so lucky, and Obi-Wan was going to take full advantage of this gift he had been given. He'd give her back, of course. He always did with this type, and when he returned her to Coruscant tomorrow or the day after, she would be _art_.

The spring and summer after his first murder had been a busy affair. The depression had returned in full force, the deaths of Qui-Gon and Siri and Satine plaguing him the moment he let his mind rest, a consistent irritant of rage and anger that always rested just beneath the skin. The solution, of course, was to never let his mind rest, and he threw himself full force into his work, teaching eight classes per semester and grading every essay and every exam personally, refusing to take a student teacher to lighten the load, despite pressure from the department dean. He simply came across as ambitious and enthusiastic, a charming, eager young professor that hadn't yet allowed student apathy to beat him down.

When drowning in work didn't ease the pain, Obi-Wan crawled deep inside a bottle, drinking himself into an alcoholic stupor in an effort to forget. It was a problem, one he both acknowledged and refused to do anything about. He didn't always drink, but when he did, it was with all the restraint of the full fledged alcoholic that he was. He _could_ exercise restraint, and often did, since being drunk impeded his ability to successfully execute his... _other_ activities.

When it got to be too much, or when he felt the need for quick and easy relief from his mounting strain, he'd go to the streets at night and _hunt_. They were victims of opportunity, degenerates and criminals, for the most part, fools that were idiot enough to leave their gangs, the dregs of Coruscant that nobody would miss, the police never trying too hard to catch a guy that was doing their job for them by throwing out the garbage. With his teaching load light for the summer and the crime rate rising with the temperature, it left Obi-Wan lots of time and opportunity to hone his new craft, and in that summer, he had perfected the hunt and the kill.

He did it because he wanted to, because each time he watched death wash over one of his victims, he was filled with immediate relief that lasted for _weeks_ , if he was lucky, a much more economic use of his time than sitting around in a drunken stupor, though he did still drink a fair bit. All in all, when he killed, he ended up being more productive in his job, more charming and more social, had an easier time concealing his true self from those around him. He _could_ do it without, could simply ease the edge off his frustrations with alcohol or grading papers, which was a task that was never done. And when the fall semester started, that's what he did, the times he left to kill becoming few and far between as work became his priority. It was a system, a good one, and it worked.

And then came winter.

With the winter came the cold and the snow, and with the holidays fast approaching, bringing with them the memories of Qui-Gon, of Siri, the marker of his first year without his Satine, and _everything_ changed. Deep inside him, the darkness gripped him, raw and savage and _hungry_ , a gnawing deep in the core of him for blood and for death, and it had to be _now_. This wasn't the stress relief option it had been before, this wasn't something he did when he wanted, _if_ he wanted. This was a _need_. An _urge_ , a consuming compulsion for death that he had no choice but to obey.

At first, he feared it, despite his previous murders, because this wasn't of his own choosing, and he resisted the call, letting himself sit and occupy himself with other things while the urge within whipped him up into a frenzy. The next thing he knew, he was out in the streets, his eyes wild and hungry, every person he saw no more than _prey_ , no one target more opportune than the other, the need for death and blood clouding his judgement until he was little more than an animal, barely hanging on to the threads of his control.

He had only just managed to settle on a cold, solitary vagrant, ending him swiftly and almost casually simply to relieve the raging within him, and the moment he saw the blood pouring out of the twitching body, he felt the fog clear, the urge sated as the maddening tension left him, and Obi-Wan returned home, shaking in the aftershocks of the act and drunk on death, glad that the ordeal was over.

And then it happened again. And _again_.

He had been smarter about it the second and third times, had felt the tension building as it always did, brushing it off as his usual stress at first until the urge gripped him again, the need, not the want, and he was driven to do it again. It only stopped after the third time, ending with the culmination of the holiday season, the urge reverting back into his casual want after desperate, consuming need had driven him to take three victims, one for each of his losses, one for sweet Siri, for dear Qui-Gon, for lovely Satine, bloody displays to serve as the markers of their deaths.

The next year had been the same. Spring, summer, fall of freedom, a time for the honing of his social persona at the university, weekends and the occasional weekday evening of functional or non-functional alcoholism, and the occasional murder when the opportunity arose, or when he found a particularly desirable victim. With winter again came the _urge_ , want fading to need, and the casual killing stopped in favor of carefully planning for these kills that the infection within him demanded. He could lose control too easily, could slip and make a mistake because the needed had to be met, and as soon as the air turned chilly, as soon as he felt the gnawing hunger deep inside him, he began planning. These deaths were _special_. These were for Siri, for Qui-Gon, for Satine. So damn it, he was going to make a spectacle of it. _Everyone_ would remember them, even if they didn't know it. It was the _thought_ that counted.

The next spring, summer and fall, the beginning of the next cycle, he changed his methods. He killed less frequently, but this time, it wasn't just for the relief. This time, it was for the _winter_ , everything in preparation for that. He took fewer victims, but this time, instead of simply killing them in the dirty back streets of Coruscant, he subdued them and threw them in the trunk of his car and brought them to the cabin, his basement converted into a grim studio where he could experiment, try new things, new cuts, new ways to remove hearts and lungs and livers and any other thing he wished removed from his eventual masterpieces. It was all in preparation for the winter, all for the artistry he would dedicate to his lost loved ones, three grim displays with which to convey his loss, his pain, his _fury_.

Nights that saw him drunk saw the work far messier than when he was sober, but the creativity increased dramatically, a product of his lowered inhibitions and a more carefree attitude that his sulking sober self didn't exhibit. Sobriety was safer, careful, and it meant more victims in his workshop. He wasn't so stupid to go out and kill people when he was _drunk_. Obi-Wan may have been a monster, but he was no idiot. Idiots got caught, and Coruscant's finest had yet to truly understand that they had a predator among them. That would change this year, and as he drove up the snowy, forested mountain toward the cabin, he eyed the woman in the seat beside him as she seductively leaned in toward him, so innocent, so _unsuspecting_. She was the first of the three, the first he would offer up in dedication, the first of the urges he was required to fill before this cycle could end and the next could begin.

He had done this last year, of course, though not as well as he would this year. He had three seasons to perfect his craft, to change the act of murder into an art, and that alone was far more exciting than the pleasure he was going to take from her body, the lusty girl so unsuspecting of what would come afterwards.

As soon as they entered the cabin, he locked the door and dragged the girl by the hand up to the master bedroom, tearing her clothing off as soon as they stepped inside the room and he tossed her on the bed, climbing on top of the moaning girl and biting at her neck, a hard, feral thing that was less driven by arousal as it was driven by a need to claim her as his own. She gasped in a mixture of pain and pleasure, and only caught the faintest glimpse of the wild, dangerous flash in her soon to be lover's eyes as he flipped her over on her stomach, his strong hands clutching at her hip so tightly that she could feel the bruising already beginning to erupt under his fingers.

He drew he hips up, a hand pressing down on her back to keep her still when she made a move to rise, and after a moment of fiddling, without any warning or any attempt to prepare her beyond what her own excitement and arousal had done, he slammed inside her, the girl yelping at the sudden penetration, and Obi-Wan began a hard, merciless pace, savage and brutal in his attentions, his eyes raking over her smooth, pale back, the flowing blond hair on the pillow beside her, her face contorted in a mix of pain and arousal. With a deep growl of satisfaction in his chest, Obi-Wan slowed the pace, watching the girl's face relax, the gasps of pain becoming long, loud moans of pleasure.

He could feel the urge within him growing, the knot of hunger within him tightening with each thrust into her willing, pliant body, his own arousal and pleasure climbing in anticipation of what was to come. This girl was _stupid_ , prey that had mistaken a predator for a mate, and she was going to die for it. It was _exhilarating_ , and he found in recent years that he enjoyed sex most when it was like this, driving hard into a victim that had no idea what was in store for them. It was a predatory anticipation, a case of playing with his food before he ate it, made only more enjoyable when they became eager, willing participants in a game where they didn't know the outcome.

She reached climax more than once before Obi-Wan finally allowed himself his own orgasm when the maddening urge within him became too much to resist. Taking a moment to pull her hips back against him, his abdominal muscles tensing in a cascade as he pulses his release within her, Obi-Wan does nothing to suppress the feral, wild moan deep in his chest, a dangerous sound to anyone with the wits to pay attention, but she doesn't, lost in a sea of pleasure and euphoria, too unaware to feel the darkness within him, too smitten to see the hunger in his eyes.

Obi-Wan unceremoniously pulls out after she had milked the last of his climax from him, pushing her hips down on the bed as he removes the condom and throws it in the garbage beside the bed to be dealt with later. DNA evidence is not an intelligent thing to leave behind inside a murder victim. Safety first.

Obi-Wan pulls his pants back on, leans over her and bites down on her ear, earning a gasp equal parts pain and delight, and with a wolfish grin, he beacons for the girl to follow him, which she eagerly does in her smitten pleasure haze. Down the stairs, through the hall to the back of the house, Obi-Wan unlocks the door to the basement and gestures for her to enter, the girl's naked flesh prickling from the cold, her arms crossed over her chest as she descends, the sound of her feet on the steps covering the sound of the door being bolted shut and locked.

She looks around as she steps inside, the lights flickering on in an immaculately clean, sterile room, a workshop of sorts that looks more like an industrial kitchen than a man's toolshed, which this clearly is. A stainless steel counter sits in the middle of the room, long, bright florescent lights hanging above it, meant to provide the greatest amount of visibility to the project being worked on. She frowns as she looks around the various workbenches along the walls and thinks for a moment that perhaps it _is_ a kitchen. Knives of various shapes, sizes, designs and purposes hang neatly ordered from pegs and hooks. On the other end are the things she would expect to see in a toolshed, rotary saws of different size, the teeth ranging in size from tiny, nearly smooth discs to large, serrated edges, various grinders, and in a corner is a neatly kept electric chainsaw.

She brushed away her apprehension as she looked at the coiled hose hanging from a rack on the wall, at the large, circular drain under the counter in the center of the room. _Of course_ he has a chainsaw. He lives in a cabin in the woods.

She jumped, shrieking in surprise when a strong arm wrapped around her, pulling her hard against her lover's body and she laughed nervously to relieve her sudden tension when he held her tightly against him, his lips mouthing at her neck, his tight grim screaming of possession.

"I don't usually get so lucky to have girls like you..." Obi-Wan drawled, his voice thick and heavy, his accent lazy and more noticeable than usual, and she shivers. Something in his voice is... _wrong_. "I admit, I find it easy to seduce people. Most of my victims get wise at some point, but _you_..." Obi-Wan kissed the girl's neck, her thin frame shivering not just from the cold as her confusion slowly cleared. "So _innocent_...tell me, did you _really_ have no idea you were in the presence of a serial killer?" She didn't say a word, only began thrashing and screaming, but Obi-Wan's strong arm kept her tightly restrained against him, his other hand coming to clasp over her mouth.

" _Hush_ ," he hissed, his irritation rising as she failed to heed his orders. "We are in the middle of the woods on a mountain, it's snowing, and there isn't a town for ten miles, my nearest neighbor is tow miles down the mountain. _Nobody can hear you_." She stopped screaming against his hand and he removed it, the girl breaking down into helpless sobs, though she continued to struggle, weak as her attempts were. Kenobi returned to kissing at her neck. "Stop struggling, my dear, it's over. You're already dead."

"Please..." she whimpered, and the man just rolled his eyes and reached to a workbench behind him and selected a long, thin knife, immaculate and razor sharp. "Please, I'll give you anything..."

"You have nothing I want," Obi-Wan sneered in contempt. "Except for what you already gave me." The girl froze and stopped moving when he held the knife before her. "I just want you. You're necessary. You wouldn't understand." He kissed her neck again, another helpless sob ripped from her throat. "Don't be afraid..." Obi-Wan whispered, his voice low and husky and filled with the primal hunger he felt growing to overtake him. "I take no enjoyment in letting my victims suffer. I'll kill you quickly. You'll be unconscious from blood loss in four to eight seconds, and you'll be dead in under a minute." The girl grew limp in his arms, her legs giving out in fear as she sobbed, the arm around her waist holding her up. "I'll promise you this," Obi-Wan said, planting a kiss to her shoulder as he pressed the knife against the inside of her thigh. "You're going to be a _masterpiece_. My work of art, nobody will _ever_ forget you..."

Before she could say another word or choke another sob, Obi-Wan pulled the knife back, cutting long and deep into her leg, severing the femoral artery, blood pulsing in thick, heavy gushes from the open wound, and true to his word, the girl was unconscious in seconds. He hoisted her up on the table, laying her flat and watching in hungry, predatory delight as blood pooled over the counter, running in thick streams down the sides and to the floor, his eyes darting between the girl's dazed, glassy expression and the red, pulsating life that drained from her.

With a deep sigh of satisfaction, Obi-Wan ran his fingers through the thick, hot blood on the once perfectly sterile table, the tension leaving his body as the urge was sated. For now. The first of three, the next bound to happen within a week. But that would have to wait. For now, he had a heart to cut out, as he always did. Coruscant was waiting, and there was work to do.


End file.
